


Good And Gone

by Shadowolf19



Series: If You Need Me, I'll Be There (MCU Series) [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Civil War Was A Mess (Marvel), Drama, Explanations, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, One Shot, POV Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slash, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stony Bingo, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, filling the gaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowolf19/pseuds/Shadowolf19
Summary: He kicks his feet out of the bed, takes his head in the palms of his hands and swallows the hard reality. It’s all still too fresh, the wound hasn’t had time to scar.





	Good And Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Third fill for my Stony Bingo card (prompt "experience") which is on at cap_ironman on livejournal and dreamwidth (and will be until the end of the month).  
> I'll explain my headcanon in the end notes for anyone who is interested as it's not strictly necessary to enjoy the fic if you have followed the MCU. It took me a bit to figure out the details and admittedly I'm not entirely sure that it can be considered compliant with Spiderman: Homecoming as that film messes up with my brain and gives me a headache because of its timeline issues (I've got ASD, I'm not being funny). It does, however, check in with all of the other films.  
> Anyway, my big dilemma was about a detail that has been bothered me since watching Infinity War: when Tony says that Steve is the one who could probably find Vision, he then goes "It's not that easy", but my question is, why wouldn't it be? I mean, they're facing the very entity who has been causing him all sorts of problems since 2012, and after all it's been two years since CW (which, by the way, ended with Steve offering a metaphorical olive branch), surely he would be able to look past it now? So the solution I came up with is that something _else_ has happened between the two of them since 2016, something, in certain ways, even deeper (I know I'm free falling at this point but not all the blame is mine, thank you CW/IW writers!). Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it!

_ Night #1: May 2016 – One week after Siberia _

_Incoming fire. Incoming fire._

_“Cap?”_

_“Tony, I’m f—aaah!”_

_“Cap, are you OKAY?”_

_“…”_

_“CAP!”_

_“Captain America has been disconnected, sir.”_

_No, no, no, no. It couldn’t have been. This is not happening. No. You can’t leave me by myself. Don’t you_ dare _leaving me. I’m not good on my own. God knows it has taken me enough time to figure this out, but it’s true. I need you. I need someone who understands why we do what we do. And you’re the only one who truly does._

_“Friday, where is Cap?”_

_“Sir, I’m not picking up any vit—“_

_“JUST SHOW ME!”_

_Two minutes later, I spot him in a small ravine. My heart is beating dangerously too fast, to the point that it starts hurting as much as when I was in that damn cave, almost a decade ago. Except now it’s not physically damaged. Or is it? For all I know it could be. Maybe irreparably so._

_Before I even realize it I’m landing on the rocky, slimy surface of this unknown planet lightyears away from Earth; and then I’m running, desperately, clumsily, because I don’t want to wait for the suit to get off me, I_ can’t _wait for it, every second is precious, every second counts._

_Like a baseball player running back to his home plate to score a run, I slide on my knees to cover the small distance left between us, ignoring the mud (or whatever it is) spitting all over my suit. As soon as I’m next to him, I lift his upper body in my arms; just like that, I become painfully aware of the terrible, devastating truth, even if I’m trying so damn hard to ignore it._

_“C-Cap? Cap, c’mon, we gotta go. They’re waiting for us. Cap.”_

_I shake him up, pat softly his cheeks. It’s all useless._

_“Wake up, wake up. WAKE UP, DAMN IT!”_

_Except he’s not going to, is he? Not now, not…_

_But any trace of rational thinking has left my mind a good ten minutes ago, and now all that’s left is… raw emotion. Nothing that I’m saying – or doing – makes any sense, and I know it, but I just can’t stop._

_“Sir? He’s not br—“_

_The helmet gets thrown away with such a rage that for a moment I wonder if I really was the one who did it. It rolls away from me, down the slope, and ends its run with a noisy thump. I know the air is breathable for some reasons – Steve is not wearing anything to cover his nose – so that’s not the problem, but I’ll have to get it back before I leave this planet. That is, if I_ do _. Because right now… I think I would rather stay here._

_The chilled wind ruffles my hair and beats down like a whip on my naked face. I feel a wetness I hadn’t realize was there freezing at its touch. I should check his pulse, but I’m too scared of doing it, because the rational part of my brain already knows the answer, while I want to ignore it as long as possible. So I start a hopeless CPR, and when my lips touch his the cold, heartbreaking truth becomes too evident to disregard._

_“You’re a fucking super soldier, Roger, stop making me waste time, stand the fuck up and let’s go!” I yell angrily at him, as if he was just pretending to not hear me._

_But he is dead, and I am lost._

All of a sudden Tony wakes up, screaming his lungs out, his face sticky with sweat, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he knows what is about to happen. He comes to a sitting position and tries to take long, deep breaths in to regulate his cardiac rhythm, but he’s painfully aware it’s too late for that too: it’s catching up on him, and he’s got nowhere to hide.

“Please…” he murmurs, sounding like a beggar.

The next moment he tosses his head back, his eyes facing the ceiling, while it begins. The sheer panic invades his body within seconds, he can’t breath at all, his throat reduced to a knot so tight it seems like he’s actually hanging from a noose. He starts panting, loudly, and tears come down his face without him even knowing it. He feels lost, hopeless, like he’s still in his nightmare, somehow stuck in that realm.

Seven seconds go by – but they count as minutes to him – and it’s all over. The panic attack ceases, his heart goes back to its regular beating, his windpipes free as normal. He passes a hand over his face, feels the wetness of it, and gives a disgusted look at his hand. “Jesus Christ…” he sighs, closing briefly his eyes and hugging his knees tight. He rocks himself gently, as if he was a little kid, and then blindly stretches a hand back to touch the body next to his. “Steve? Did I wak—“ he starts, but stops abruptly halfway through. He turns, and of course there’s nobody there – there hasn’t been for a good couple of weeks now – just the fading aftershave of the man whose name has just been called out, and empty sheets which emphasize that loss even more.

“Goddamn it, Rogers, get out of my fucking head!”, he screams, punching his legs as if it was their fault. He kicks his feet out of the bed, takes his head in the palms of his hands and swallows the hard reality. It’s all still too fresh, the wound hasn’t had time to scar, and yet he’s living in the same room that had seen so many happy moments before this mess exploded. Now they’re all memories too painful to ignore, and even if he knows that he should be staying elsewhere – _anywhere_ but here, really – it’s stronger than him, because what he’s doing is effectively punishing himself.

“Tony? Are you okay?”

The soft knock on the door has startled him, but his auto-pilot is on now: “I’m fine, Vision, thank you.”

He takes a deep breath in and wonders – not for the first or last time – when (and if) he is actually going to feel _fine_ again.

 

_ Night #2: November 2016 – Six months after Siberia _

“Stark, this is beyond ridiculous. You _have_ to do something about it. And it’s not just _him_ now, it’s _all_ of them. Not just fugitives, they actually broke out of a federal prison. It’s _unacceptable_!”

Tony gives the briefest nods – as if he is actually listening to what the general is saying – and then goes back to scribble on the paper in front of him, just to give him the impression that he’s actually _doing_ something.

“Look, I know he’s your friend…” Ross continues, but at hearing that word Tony interrupts him abruptly.

“That has _nothing_ to do with it. You’re talking as if I knew where they were and refused to tell you or – as you’ve just put it – to do _something_ about it. But the truth is, I don’t. No idea.”

“And why is it that I find it hard to believe? Surely you have some… device of yours that could serve this purpose?”

“A device to track people who are using no modern technology or credit cards? Sorry, I don’t. Contrary to this government, I take citizens’ privacy quite seriously.”

General Ross – or better, his hologram – shakes his head and looks straight into Tony’s eyes, pointing his finger at him.

“If I don’t see results soon, I’m gonna take the matter into my own hands, and it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Be my guest. I didn’t sign up to be your guard dog, in case you forgot. This is _not_ what the Accords were about.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply – the conversation wasn’t going anywhere anyway – he just hangs up. His gaze automatically goes to the first drawer of his desk. He bites his lip, thoughtfully, and after a few moments of hesitation he unlocks it to take out a flip phone which looks at least fifteen years old. Before this showed up, he hadn’t seen one since probably 1999. That feels like a lifetime ago. He surely was another person back then.

The truth is, he hasn’t been honest with Ross just now, not _completely_. Because while he really doesn’t know where the others are hiding – not that he has made any concrete effort to find out – he does have a way to contact them, more or less. That is, if this fossil from the Neolithic area still actually works.

When it got delivered, a few months back, Tony had been surprised to receive it, and didn’t quite know what to do with or make of it. But the nightmares had just stopped by then – admittedly thanks to anti anxiety meds – and he knew for a fact that indulging himself into thinking about what that phone could mean was a sure way to bring them all the way back. He didn’t want that, he was actually scared that he could flip out on himself if the panic attacks returned, and then who knows what could happen. It wasn’t a risk worth taking, not at that point anyway.

But what about now? It’s been almost four months since his last nightmare, and the thought of having that phone there has been on Tony’s mind ever since he got it nevertheless. He thinks about hearing his voice, the way he takes a pause just before answering whatever the question, and a small, shy smile pops up on his lips. _I miss you so much,_ he thinks, _but I also hate you for what you have done to us. We were happy, weren’t we? Considering the circumstances and the mess around us… we_ were _happy. There’s no denying it._ It hurts to think about it in these terms, but it is the truth, and there’s not a lot that he can do about it, except…

Tony picks up the phone and swallows, as if looking at it was actually causing him real pain. He knows Ross fully meant what he said – he always did, and he wasn’t a man to stand down – and his rational side is yelling at him to let it go, but he _can’t_. His heart says he should call him, but he feels sick just at the thought of it. As much as he misses his voice, he knows he couldn’t handle hearing it. His mind is already playing back the _“Take me”, “I just wanna be yours”_ and _“I can’t stop myself”_ that were whispered so many times before, when nobody else was there to hear them. They would haunt his brain forever if he was to call him now.

He’s actually going insane. This past few years have been a rollercoaster of feelings – and problems – that have been messing with his brain far too much. Ever since Thor’s brother brought aliens and wormholes to Earth he’s been sensing his life as hanging by a thin thread, always so precariously near to be just… snapped in two. Everything has been his pathetically human attempt to be ready for that moment to arrive. And that’s why he has never really stopped with the suits. And that’s what Pepper never understood, no matter how hard he had tried to explain himself. What was he supposed to do? Just say, “Oh, hey, sorry CITIZENS OF EARTH, I don’t feel like protecting you anymore, I got bored of it, just let me be! There are these other people – I think they’re my friends but I’m not sure since why would I do this to them if they were actually my friends? – who are more than willing to die for you, whilst I live my happy life in peace with my woman. So long (and thanks for all the fish)!” Tony sighs deeply and takes his face into his hands, rubbing tiredly his eyes. That’s how Steve Rogers became part of the picture – _his_ picture. Because he understood, straightaway.

“Tony, stoppit, goddamn it.” he cries out loud, and for good measure he slaps the palm of his right hand on his head. He barely feels it, but at least it stops further thoughts to plummeting down on him.

His glance goes on the phone again, and he could swear Ross’s words echo in the room once more. “I’m gonna take the matter into my own hands” he had threatened, and Tony knows he meant it. So he takes a deep breath, ignoring the goosebumps on his skin, finds the number in the contact list and, after a lot of drafts, eventually types in a message:

“Ross is coming for you. Be smart.”

Tony stays there for a short while, reading it over and over in his mind, then finally presses the button to send it. He doesn’t expect a reply – he’s not going to allow himself _that_ further weakness – so he puts the phone back in the drawer and is about to lock it in again when it gives a low vibration. For the first couple of seconds he actually thinks he must have imagined it – wouldn’t be the first time his mind played tricks on him – but in the off chance that it was indeed real…

He picks it up again, opens it, and not without astonishment – not just because he did text back, but also because he did it _immediately_ – he reads his reply:

“Thanks for the heads-up. I owe you one.”

 

_ Night #3: May 2017 – One year after Siberia _

_“Thank you, everyone, for being here. The reason I called for this press conference is because this week has marked a year since the Sokovia Accords were signed in Vienna, so we thought it would be appropriate to provide an update on the current situation. But first, I would like to announce that, starting tomorrow, a new C.I.A. section will become operative in the United States, and its main task will be to hunt down and bring to justice the terrorists – ex Avengers – who are still evading the Law. The government fe--”_

Tony shuts off the TV as the pictures of Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and the rest show up on the screen. He feels dirty, disgusting and incapable of doing anything at the same time. In the last six months things have gotten out of hand quite quickly once it was clear to Ross that not only he wasn’t going to cooperate in tracking half of the Avengers down, he was with every chance actively sabotaging every attempt of his to do so. Within a month, he was politely asked to “step down” as the Avengers’ (the _official_ ones) boss, a role he never really wanted after the Accords had come in place and which he was only too happy to let go of. Then the backlash had begun, mainly against the Stark Industries. It was small things at first – boring government regulations, annoying as a mosquito buzzing in your ear – but they got increasingly more problematic to the point that Pepper had called him in her office and more or less begged him to leave the country for a while, “until I sort something out”. To her surprise, he agreed without batting an eyelid. He was quite relieved, truth be told. That same evening he had packed a small suitcase and hatched a ride to the LAX airport. His first stop had been Japan, and now he’s making his way through the south of China.

He lets himself go on the bed and looks up at the fancy ceiling decorated with red satin ribbons, wondering whether a shower could help him getting rid of that strong distaste in his mouth. But he knows he won’t, so he settles for what he knows will do the trick for sure, and even if it doesn’t, at least he will feel less in _general_. Alcohol has always been his most loyal friend, but nowadays he knows it needs to be kept under proper control: him being who he is and the situation being what it is, the temptation of drinking away everything would be a fatal mistake. _Just a drink or two, just for tonight. I can’t believe Ross is turning the CIA against them_. Of course, it was something bound to happen, but nevertheless, looking at their pictures on a big screen as if they indeed were terrorists has been too low of a blow. Worst, he feels completely hopeless, and he despises himself because of this.

Half an hour – and a couple of shots of scotch – later his head is not hurting that much anymore, and a sense of weird calm occupies most of his mind. Except it’s more like a pain which has only been dulled by painkillers, but you know it’s there. Tony knows what is it, he’s been living with it for the past year, as General Ross kindly reminded the world earlier.

“It’s been a fucking year…” he says out loud, as if he was actually speaking to someone. But the room is deserted, the same way his whole being has been for the past twelve months. It’s been hurting as hell.

_One fucking year. Steve…_

Trying to remember this moment tomorrow, he will come up with no rational explanation as why he did what he did, or how he went about picking up that stupid flick phone from his jacket, composing the number from memory – he had thought it was something worth doing in the probable case that relic stopped working all of a sudden at some point – and actually have the guts to press the green receiver button this time without hanging up in sheer panic. “I wasn’t _that_ drunk”, he’ll say, and it will be the truth.

So here he goes, lying on the bed, the phone against his ear, the metallic ring echoing in his brain like an electric drill. _Will you even pick up? You promised you wou—_

“Tony? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

…

“Hello?”

Tony can’t believe he’s actually hearing Steve Roger’s voice right now. After a whole year. This must be a very realistic dream, for sure.

“Tony?”

“Steve…” he mumbles, and his voice comes out crooked and genuinely surprised.

“Yes, this is me… What… Are you alright? What’s happening?”

He doesn’t know what to say anymore. All these months of playing potential scenarios in his own head, aware that they would never really happen… Except now it’s real, and he’s on the other side of the line, and he’s calling his name, he’s calling _Tony_ , and oh, how was he missing hearing him saying his name…

“I… Did you see… Did you hear… General Ross thingy?”

“The press conference, you mean?”

“That, yes. I… I just saw it and… Steve… You gotta be careful out there, okay? Promise me you’re gonna be careful, Steve. Because you know what the CIA does, don’t you? Oh… Oh shit, maybe you don’t? Do you know what the CIA does, Steve? They’re bad people, Steve…”

He can swear he can hear him _smiling_ at the other end, and that makes him smile too. He stretches backwards to put the glass back on the bedside table and sits up against the wall, hugging a pillow on his stomach. His head feels clearer than it’s even been in a year or so.

“I know what the CIA does, Tony, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

“Good…” he sighs, closing his eyes and staying there, trying to think of something else to say to keep the conversation going. But as the bit of scotch amplifies his senses, he becomes slowly aware of Steve’s breath against the receiver, and how he can almost feel it in his own ear. He decides to stay there in silence, hoping that he won’t close the call on the other side. He wonders if he can hear his breath too, wherever he is. He hopes so.

“Tony?” he hears eventually, after almost five minutes have gone by.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about how things turned out, it… it wasn’t my intention. I hope you believe me when I say this.”

He does. How could he not? Everything seems so… remote right now, distant. As if they were suspended somewhere beyond the mere level of existence.

“I’m sorry too” he replies, as a shiver runs down his spine. He swallows, and as he does he can feel all his anger vanishing, because really, all he ever wanted was to hear those three words, nothing else. Not even that he was right. He couldn’t care less about that.

And now that he’s heard it, he just can’t seem to hold anything back. So before the other can say anything back, he whispers in the phone, his voice shaking: “I loved you, you know?”

_You don’t even have to say it back, Steve, I know it’s not the same for you. How could it be? I just really needed to say it. I should have done it before it all went to shit, but you know me, I suck at these things. I should have told you two yea—_

“I loved you too, you know?”

_No. Please, don’t…_

“You’re kidding me.”

“Why would I?” he says, his voice giving away a genuine surprise.

Tony wants to scream into the phone. He wants to throw it off his hotel room so he never has to see it again. Blind rage is mounting inside of him now and he would like to stop it but he can’t, he just can’t. His breath is short and irregular, his throat walls grows thicker by the second. He’s trembling, and he doesn’t realize it.

“How could you?” he eventually manages to ask, his words shaky.

“Tony, I…”

But he interrupts him abruptly before Steve can speak any further.

“HOW COULD YOU, STEVE? IF YOU LOVED ME, HOW. COULD. YOU?”

“Tony, try to understand, he’s my f—“

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT HIM, I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU. IF YOU LOVED ME, HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU LIE STRAIGHT TO MY FACE AND PRETEND YOU DIDN’T KNOW?”

“I… I don’t know, Tony” he says, mortified.

Tony knows it’s the truth – god knows he’s done things that didn’t make any sense in the past – but at the same time… _We were in love, and you decided to throw it all away without even talking to me_.

“This was a mistake” he says eventually, once his anger has subsided a bit. He wishes he had never called him. He was better off believing their… thing was always only one sided. It hurt less.

“This was a mistake…” echoes Steve, and Tony could swear he heard a different note in his tone. Maybe… remorse? But it’s too late for that.

He stays on the line for a little while longer, then without saying another word he just hangs up, and puts the phone on the bedside table. He switches off the light, slips under the duvet and cuddles against himself, feeling exposed and vulnerable, waiting to fall asleep. He closes his eyes, and his memory goes without warning to three years back, to him and Steve in his room at the compound, naked after sex (or was it love?), him caressing softly his blonde hair and Steve reading an Oscar Wilde book.

_“Was that bestseller book of the year when you were young?”_

_Tony had teased him, and Steve had elbowed him in his stomach before reading a sentence off it._

_“Listen to this: ‘Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes’. How can it not speak to you?” he had replied instead, and Tony had hidden his face in the other’s neck and kissed softly his skin before murmuring against it: “Are you calling me a mistake?”_

_But Steve had shaken his head, looking at him, smiled and whispered: “I’d never” before pulling his head close and kissing him with an assertion that had left him no doubts._

As the memory kicks him hard in his gut, Tony hugs the pillow tighter and feels his heart shattering in his chest, while he wonders if he will actually ever see Steve Rogers again.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I kinda cheated on the prompt given by the challenge, but ever since I started thinking about what "experience" could mean, that Oscar Wilde quote got stuck into my head and I just couldn't get past it, so I had to use it. 
> 
> The title of the fic comes from the Frank Turner's song with the same name, which has surprisingly fitting lyrics ("I have yearned for you/In the airless hubs of international airports/In the hollow hell of many hundred hotels/In the solitary stillness of the early hours/I still do"). 
> 
> For anyone interested in my headcanon (and for future me should I forget parts of it lmao):  
> Keeping it brief, Tony and Pepper were together from 2010 to late 2015/early 2016, but they start having problems around late 2014 because of the whole "I keep building suits even if I promised you I'd stop" situation. At that point Steve comes in the picture: at first it's just flirting (AOU anyone?), then things get "serious" until Tony doesn't want to keep lying to Pepper and tells her the truth - which brings them to take a break (the beginning of CW). But then of course everything goes to the dogs (thanks again, CW writers!) so Tony ends up alone. The rest is written up/hinted at in the fic.


End file.
